quick couple of things:
– go see Double Negative while they’re out touring. they’re with some bands called The Spits and OFF!. OFF! has an exclamation mark in their name, like so many other quality bands (!!!, Vampires Everywhere!, Stop It!!) so im not sure how to end a sentence with their band name in it.
– listen to Inservibles
we woke up at West’s. somehow. he made us breakfast and coffee. then we left to go play his show, Sonic Reducer, on KEXP. i wandered around their studios looking at things and talking to people. they filmed us and took pictures. they also put up with us.
i also talked to a guy about this stupid robot coin bank for a while. i used to have the same one as a child, back in the days when you were impressed by robots and didn’t just expect them to vacuum for you automatically.
you can listen to the live set here, on our buddy OLD SCHOOL MIKE’s blog. we were very hungover and my voice was trashed from the night before, so don’t expect too much. also i am talking a lot on it, so expect that it is annoying.
we also got to do some of those radio promo things. so i got to say, “HEY WE’RE BRAIN TUMORS AND YOU ARE LISTENING TO KEXP,” in the event that somehow we ever become historically significant.
we talked to the kind and genuinely appreciative KEXP staff out in the lot and they took a picture of us wearing our Best Buy uniforms. i talked to the gal who does all of the post-production who did the filming and she told me about her documentary called “Sanctuary Song”. Her name is Jenna Pool. so look that shit up if youre in the northwest. or fuck off and dont let me tell you what to do.
we went back to West’s place and unloaded shit from the van, trying to figure out how we were going to fix the brakes. i stressed out and paced around the house until eventually taking what i thought was a Tylenol but probably ended up being a Xanax. this left me totally stupid, but no longer worrying about the van. so i took pictures of trees.
West contacted his friend, Ryan, from this black metal band called ADDAURA, saying he is a dude with some old van and he does a lot of work himself. so Max and I ventured out to meet him at his place. click that picture on the left to see the best show marquee ever.
ryan checked out the brakes. he reassured us that we would probably be okay to get to Olympia. and then apparently i took a picture of part of his butt.
then Max and I drove 30 blocks in the wrong direction, singing Brain Tumors and Much Worse songs in the style of Pantera. we got back to West’s place where joel recapped the Totes Brute story for me again, saying after the singer punched him in the face and joel said, “This is what is wrong with you,” not “this is why people don’t like you”. the dude also threw Joel by the neck. hahahaha. oh man.
man, don’t click that Pantera link if other people are around. you’re gonna sound like a loser to whoever is around your house, if you don’t already.
“hey, are you listening to Phil Anselmo cover Alice In Chains?”
“no, reading Brain Tumors’ blog.”
we left West’s house and drove to Olympia. it was 40 minutes away so half this blog post will not be about people farting and looking at different gas stations and comparing them to previous gas stations. on the way to Olympia, i called an auto repair shop called TRUSTED CHOICE and told them our situation.
“no problem. we’ll check it out and get it going for you. any work we can’t do, we’ll make sure you’re alright until you get to Portland. if you guys sleep in the van, you can stay in our lot, too.”
i have a lot of things to say about Olympia as a whole. i first went to Olympia for a film festival because one of the few movies i’ve worked on ended up in it. the film is called Invincible Force, if you’re interested.
i spent three days there. the first night, i spent time at a party being thrown for us where these bands, Lair, Babe Lazer, and Princest all played. i cant remember which was which other than Princest (thanks to that video) but there was one which was definitely more performance art than a band. it consisted of a young girl writhing around on the floor in her underwear, screaming. it was good. the next night, i went to a garage and watched the Buffalo, NY boy-geniuses Brown Sugar rip up a crowd of weirdos. then i hung out with a dog.
Olympia is all of the good and bad things about art school gathered up and spattered around 10 or 20 blocks. Combined with meth heads, juggalos, and a large population of homeless people. it is full of people who are perpetually “down” to do whatever – something i attribute to be an art school mentality. they may not remember what happened, they may not buy merch, but at least they took the time to show interest in the first place.
Minneapolis is similar in that regard with every single show dragging out a new asshole with dyed hair, sometimes never seen again.
anyway. we all got into town and split up, me going off to wander around having been there before. before i left, i watched Dan get a compliment from some dude walking by on his Dale Earnhardt Jr. Hat – something that happened in about four other cities on this tour. i went by this vintage clothing store that i cant remember the name of (rainy day?) that has a punk record side and chatted with a kid there for a while. then walked around and went to go find oysters, having no idea if Olympia is even the place for oysters.
i got a sampling of different oysters and ended up being really into these tiny, strange looking ones with jagged edges. i talked to the bartender about Davis, CA, and her former life as a punk, her time in drug treatment programs, and homeless people. joel ate a burger and sent it back because it had mayonnaise. i think i ended up eating it when it came back out with mayonnaise again, or something like that.
we left and met up at this cool metal bar that has old autopsy tables and shit like that. the jukebox had a ton of black metal. i also wrote down “carmina burana: pat negro prison songs”. hopefully that means something to him if he reads this. we drank exotic cocktails.
i also tried to take the most art school picture of myself, but it comes out more as a “unfortunate ugly man with flower” portrait. i guess that’s kind of art school.
we went to Le Voyeur, an awesome bar/cafe/spot to catch music to scope the place out. i ate there when i was in Olympia last and the food was killer, but i dont think anyone got a chance to eat there this time.
when we got to Le Voyeur, we noticed there was another show going on in the back room. the show board was pretty vague as far as what was going on but it was clear that there was an early “rock n roll” show and a late “hardcore punk” show. i went in the back room and there were some people picking shit up and unloading in the back alley, having just played. we talked for a while and realized we had nothing in common.
now these people, the ones i had nothing in common with, were still cool. but there was this girl there with some other assholes who were also probably wearing vests and also probably had At The Drive In hair.
the girl started talking to me about when her band should play. i will refer to her band as The Yonder Mountain Pig Pickin’ Funk Funkin’ Extravaganza (YMPPFFE) because i did not write down their fucking name. i told her i did not think she was playing the late show, but i didn’t care what they did. so she said some shit about how they would play whenever and they are flexible, and they are an 8 person funk band from New York City. i kept asking her who she booked this show through and she kept saying that she didn’t know.
i told her again that i did not think her band was on the show.
we went back to the weird metal/goth/whatever bar. on the way out, a homeless man propped up against a light post called me a “faggot”.
we went back to the club, said hi to White Walls, and i talked to some dude about how some juggalos beat some dude for $200 and how he has brain damage now. i also ran into the GAG guys by then and briefed them of the New York funk band, who i guess had been playing for an hour.
i was drunk by this point so i don’t remember how it happened, but i started arguing with the human female after one of the dudes in GAG told them to fuck off and that they weren’t getting paid. here is a brief summation of how the conversation went
“move your shit out of this booth, we need to set up our merch.”
“wuh wuh wuh we need to get paid wuh wuh wuh”
“who did you book this show through?”
“nyerrr uhhh i dont know, but we were listed on the website”
“i dont care. neither does anyone else. you’re not getting paid. nobody is going to pay you. talk to the person who booked this show for you. if you’d like, you can stay and watch the first band and decide if you were supposed to be on this show.”
Nudes played while the funk guitarist stared into the room from a safe distance. they were fucking nuts. and they were great – so great that we got some of their tapes and now all walk around yelling “SICK FUCKER SICK FUCKER SICK FUCKER SICK FUCKER SICK FUCKER SICK FUCKER – I AAAAAM” at each other all the time.
i didnt see any of the funk band at the show after that.
we stood around in the alleyway and talked, us, White Walls, Nudes, and Gag. White Walls had just returned from Calgary (and maybe BC). we were offered to play Calgary once by this dude who promised us some huge Canadian shows but we figured we should not chance it, given how we are criminals. White Walls are evidently not criminals, so they went to play the gig. another story i heard while drunk: i guess what happened is that White Walls played a huge show in Calgary but they didn’t get paid most of the money because the guy who booked the show owed this band from Texas, called Power Trip, a bunch of money.
watching this video, i just want to say: i am so glad that i am in a band that just punches each other or rolls around on the ground, or cries after shows rather than stomping around and dancing, headbanging in unison.
edit: i have since watched other videos of Power Trip and they seem a lot better. i still dont like modern crossover though, except for Cross Examination because of those vocals.
White Walls played another quality set. they played their Pixies cover and Pat stood up front, being pat.
by then, pals of mine from Olympia had arrived. Sophie and Sierra. and Felicity for about ten seconds. Sophie ran around painting everyone with lipstick, including this kid who we would later run into in Denver, CO.
we played after White Walls. there was a good crowd of people, all drunk and energized. we were drunk but we were not that drunk. i think the night before with West killed our abilities to get tanked, which was for the best.
we started playing. i knocked a few beer bottles over. i was either drinking a beer or was just holding one, and i hit myself in the head with the bottle. sometimes i hit myself with the microphone. its part of the show, because i am angry and it makes people uncomfortable. after the first hit with the beer bottle i thought to myself,
“hey, i wonder if this thing will break on my head if i do it again.”
so i hit myself in the head. as the beer bottle was breaking on my dumb bald head, i thought some more.
“hey, isn’t like, if you break a beer bottle…you like…something with your hand, like you hurt it real bad maybe.”
i looked down and realized i had split my pinky finger open and blood was rapidly running down my arm. doing some quick thinking, i elevated it and we continued playing. everyone backed far away except for my friend, Sophie, wearing a cream-colored fur coat. she stood in front. i wiped a handful of blood on her which felt very activist of me.
as soon as our set ended, this nice person grabbed me, pulled me into the bathroom, and started cleaning my finger up and pulling glass out of my head.
i got taped up real nice and acted like i was not covered in blood and like i knew what i was doing, and things were fine.
GAG played. heavy reverb. and very good, making Olympia one of the best shows we’ve ever played overall. all killer bands – it’s a shame Piss Cop didn’t make it, whoever they are.
we left with Sophie to go stay at her place, about a mile away. on the way over we stopped at this hot dog joint attached to a gay bar that i remembered was good. Sophie and I approached the window where the woman immediately said,
“whoa, shit! is that real blood or -”
“fake,” Sophie and i interrupted, in perfect unison.
“good, because i used to work in a tattoo shop and i know how dangerous blood can be. anyway, what can i get for ya?”
we got two hot dogs while standing in front of the place. i pissed off a train-hopping dork by claiming i did not know what STAR WARS was. when he was outraged enough, yelling at everyone about what a piece of shit i was, i said,
“dude, of course i know what Star Wars is. Yoga is my favorite character.”
“YOGA? YOGA!? DID HE JUST SAY “YOGA”?!”
we walked across the street to the van, parked adjacent to some doughy character who was sleeping on the sidewalk using his backpack for a pillow. i hopped in the driver’s seat and tried to start the van.
no luck.
i tried starting it again. and again. and again. no luck, no luck, no luck.
the homeless dude on the sidewalk got up and offered to help us push it to a service station or a side street. really friendly guy about our age. i told him not to worry about it because i was going to call AAA for a tow.
Dan decided to go crazy and start complaining that the van would not have broken down if we did not stop to get hot dogs. Pat started slamming doors and angrily muttering to himself. i rationally responded by screaming at everyone to get the fuck away from the van and telling everyone i was going to beat them up. so Pat, Dan, Max, and Sophie all decided to walk to her house a few blocks away.
and for some reason, the homeless guy started to walk away with them.
“HE’S COMING WITH US,” stammered Sophie.
still fuming, i told them to fuck off and elected to stay with the van and wait for the tow-truck, then sleep in the van in the auto repair shop’s parking lot. Joel, realizing that i just lost my mind, decided to stay back with me.
“i’m gonna call it right now – inviting that homeless dude back to the house was a bad idea. i bet some fucked up shit is going to happen,” joel said.
“who gives a fuck,” i mumbled bitterly.
joel was right.
nah, that homeless dude and his monster energy drink hat were made chill.